Adequately Invincible
by blueink3
Summary: Post 'The Tower,' David wakes in the middle of the night, only to be confronted by the grandson he forgot was asleep on the couch.


_Adequately Invincible_

_"You failed me." _

He shoots awake and inhales sharp, stuttering breaths, before running a hand down his sweaty face and glancing over at his still-sleeping wife, thankful that he hadn't woken her.

The dreams vary, but the message is still the same: how dare he expect to be a good father when he had been found so lacking the first time?

_"Goodbye, Daddy." _

The words echo in his head, mocking the moniker she'd never gotten to call him.

With an angered puff of breath, he pushes the covers back as gently as he can before padding out into the living room and the cold comfort another sleepless night provides. He's barely watching where his feet are going, robotically going through the motions of making tea, which is why when the voice comes, it nearly startles him out of his skin.

"Nightmare?"

His sharp eyes pierce through the dark and he marvels at how the boy on the couch almost isn't that anymore.

_Henry._

It had been a late night, and rather than Regina leaving the boy alone at Granny's, she brought him back to their little apartment, making it feel more like home for the first time in far too long.

And in the lingering fog of his dream, David had completely forgotten.

"What?" he finally manages and Henry tucks his feet beneath him and rests his arms on the back of the couch.

"Did you have a nightmare? I could hear you talking."

"Oh," he murmurs and his ears burn. He had always wanted to appear invincible to his grandson and now he's displayed the biggest crack in his armor. "Did I say anything interesting?" he says, going for levity, but Henry shrugs in a way that David's come to know; it says, 'yeah, but I'm gonna make you work for it.'

"Nothing too interesting."

David raises an eyebrow and manages a genuine smirk, despite his inner turmoil. Clearly this will involve greater persuasion and he puts the box of tea in the cabinet, going for the chocolate instead. He holds it up and gives it an enticing shake, which has Henry's eyes lighting up.

"I'm not normally allowed to have sweets at night."

"Then I guess this'll have to stay between us guys," David replies, moving around the kitchen with practiced ease, despite the stiffness of his limbs. He's sore in places he didn't even think it was possible to be sore, and he knows a nasty bruise is no doubt forming on his back. He can only hide the marks from Snow for so long, but hopefully he'll be mostly healed by the time she takes notice.

He knows Henry is watching him with the careful eye he inherited from his mother. And that his mother likely inherited from him. He puts on a mask he's long since perfected, but at 2am after an entirely too long week, he can only hope his frayed nerves are up to the task.

The cocoa is poured and David has to fight the overwhelming urge to wipe off Henry's whipped cream moustache before the boy blurts out, "You said, 'I'm sorry, I'll save you."

And instantly, his chest tightens. He watches, his heart beating against his ribcage like a man trying to break out of prison, as Henry plays with the rim of his mug, refusing to let his gaze wander anywhere but on the table.

"Yes, it was a nightmare," he finally says, because if he's going to gain Henry's trust, he might as well put some faith in the boy.

"You should light a candle. That's what Mom always did for me."

"Smart woman, your mother." His voice his barely a raspy whisper, but it's enough to send Henry's interest back to his mug.

David should have known it wouldn't stay there for long.

"Who were you saving?" It's innocent and a little sad, as if Henry knows the story's end is not a happy outcome. And David finds himself needing to confide in the boy, if only to keep the words from squeezing the breath from his lungs.

"My daughter."

Henry's eyes widen imperceptibly, but David notes the casual way he schools his features, a tactic he most definitely learned from the woman asleep in the loft above their heads.

"What happened to her?"

"She was taken from me. Twice. And I couldn't follow."

Henry cocks his head and stares at the prince. "That wasn't your fault."

David gives a humorless grin. "It was. I'm her father. I'm supposed to protect her. I… I failed her." And there it is. The sentence that's haunted both his dreams and his waking hours, ever since his daughter's voice hurled them across a nursery he built.

Henry seems to consider this for a moment before shaking his head. "You didn't fail her. You loved her. If she was beyond your reach, then what could you have done?"

David's voice cracks as he replies, "Anything."

Henry takes another thoughtful sip and eyes the table, picking at a wayward splinter. "Did you ever find her?"

"She found me." And he can't help the smile the words bring to his lips, even as Henry's face pales.

"My Mom finds people for a living."

David swallows. "Does she?" He's almost silently willing the cogs in his grandson's brilliant brain to move, to fit together the impossibilities David sees flashing across his face. But what he says next nearly knocks the prince silent.

"Was your daughter's name Emma, too?"

_Wait. _"How did you – ?"

"You said, 'No, Emma.' In your dream, after you said, 'I'm sorry, I'll save you,' you yelled, 'No, Emma."

_Oh. _

They're so close. He can practically taste the truth on his tongue, but he knows now is the time for happy coincidences, not hard truths. For as badly as he wants Henry back – _their _Henry – he knows that things like this take time. He'll find his way back to them, like his mother before him.

"Yes, her name was Emma. And my greatest fear is losing her again. Letting her down."

"And that's why you can't sleep anymore?"

"That's why I can't sleep anymore."

Henry nods and finishes off his cocoa, before looking David square in the eye and blurting something so distinctly _Henry, _David's heart twists.

"For what it's worth, I think you'd make a great dad. I have a feeling your Emma thought so too. And so will this new baby."

David swallows around the lump in his throat and ignores his stinging eyes. "I hope so."

"I know so," Henry replies and it's said with such conviction that it essentially ends the argument. "You should really consider the candle," he tosses in as an afterthought as he puts his mug in the sink.

David chuckles and follows suit, lingering until Henry is safely tucked beneath his blanket once more. And as he watches his grandson settle into the cushions, he wonders if the coincidences are too much. If the pieces of the puzzle are clicking into place and forming a truth that even the staunchest skeptic would have trouble arguing with.

He lights a candle and heads back to bed, pondering the curious look of _what if _that ever so briefly graced his grandson's face and the hope it stirred in his chest…

… all the while, never noticing the figure on the top of the stairs with her mother's chin and her father's hair, watching him go with a watery smile on her face.


End file.
